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fqntasies · 20 days

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Prize - Feyd Rautha x Reader

Summary: The Na-Baron is set to fight in the arena once more; yet his opponent's reveal is a shock to you and perhaps the other Harkonnen as well. Upon his impending victory, your husband claims you as his prize, ravenous, of course.

Disclaimer: connected to my other fics of feyd. I dont write my stories as chapters, but rather time-jumps to various moments in the reader & feyd's story (considering that I write you both as connected through dreams since childhood, betrothed, etc.)

Word Count: 1,988

This was to be the second fight you would witness of the Na-Baron's, a momentous celebratory event that filled arena's and sparked a sense of frenzy among the inhabitants of Giedi Prime. The first you had witnessed took place just months before your wedding ceremony; in part a testimony of the Na-Baron's prowess and strength, a claim perhaps to your hand, if you were to view it as such. The spectacle had left you breathless then, and you were certain this time such a reaction would be warranted as well. If nothing else, the racing of your heart and the thunderous chorus of the crowds stood attest to it. They were like beasts among the stands, delirious for their prince, and loyal to their homeworld above all else, chants in the air.

This particular occasion already felt separate. Opponents were typically drugged enemy houses or military prisoners let loose in the triangular space, as was custom. But not today. You had seen odd glances among the servants, and even whispers from other members of the Harkonnen house along passing corridors. Something had been changed in the lineup. But what? Had a prisoner been injured? Escaped before the fight? When you look to your handmaidens, they give nothing away but reassuring nods, pale skulls angling towards where the battle will commence after but a moment.

You could not deduce; instead aware of the light breeze that clips at the base of your neck, and the blinding light that reigns above. It casts sharp shadows over your party, jutting from the edge of the alcove's decorative ceiling.

You stand from your seat to walk the few paces to the edge of the balcony, the dark silk of your gown sliding across your thighs like rivets of water. It is just a few paces, but you feel as though you have stepped into a new world as the sun lathes you in it's blanket of heat. You press your palms against the stone that greets you, and eyes turn down, fixed at the doors to the far north of the arena. The ring on your finger sparkles brilliantly in the day, and for a moment, the roars around you are deafening.

Then, silence... and there he is.

You see that pale visage stark against the darkness behind him, hands gripping twin blades, and you are rapt with attention. Feyd's shoulders heave with his heavy breaths, armor only enhancing his form. You knew if you were to stand up close, his eyes would be endless black pools, ravenous for the blood that was to spill before him, striking against the milky softness of his skin. He was his own animal. Foreignly alien, and yet yours all the same. Husband.

You blush as his eyes find yours abruptly, and he stalks from the entryway, steps bringing him towards you in the sand, even as he is leagues below. Your mind drifts to just hours before, where the Na-Baron had caged you among ebony blankets in your shared chambers, leaving no escape from the broadness of him in the cool of the morning. Ghosts of his tongue and mouth have you heaving a breath; licking your lips as though parched. You knew you would dream of him again tonight, even as his arms would trap you like a vice in the safety of sleep. It thrilled and frightened you alike.

Feyd lifts his blade in oath above his head, like a promise to the heavens, and you nod in reply as that sharp edge glints in the light. This blood he spills for you. Always for you. As he would for any who dared to come between.

When he turns, he rolls his shoulders languidly with a tilt of his head. Ready to strike. And you shift to look towards the very same gates he had come through moments ago. That's when you pause - a breath catching in surprise.

The harpies - you were sure of it; their angled forms were roped about each other, a strangling mess of light limbs as they were dragged by burly guards towards the center of the sands. An offering before their dark prince. Proposed like some strange kind of sacrificial lamb.

Suddenly you knew - this was what had made everyone so surprised.

Feyd has turned again, his face now determined, set. You can see it in the sharpness of his jaw, like he vibrates with a new kind of rage. It's his declaration of his love. He will destroy the things that sought to destroy them and their bond; greedy creatures who cared not for the destiny set before their master. Only seeking flesh and carnal sustenance.

At one point, members of the Harkonnen house had thought to leash the Na-Baron with the harpy creatures; perhaps thinking such temptations could control him, avenues orchestrated by the Baron himself, or Rabban, though you assumed the former. But they had failed to see the lengths to which Feyd was devoted to you, had never known the dreams you both had shared since before your very meeting.

This was what he offered to you. Power and promise. Heady in the air, and ripe with opportunity.

---

When they were lifeless upon the sands, you meet your husband's gaze again. There is red painting his body like stars in the milkyway; and a gash covers his chest where one of the harpies had caught him in her claws. He sways a bit, almost drunkenly; and a bloodied grin paints handsome features as he picks up a pace towards you, black cloak carrying behind him like a billowing shadow. You know where he is headed, as his form disappears beneath. It sets your heart to a stampede, goosebumps prickling along the flesh of your arms, and you are swift to dart from the cover of your ladies.

He hunts you, a hulking form somewhere below, closer and closer.

You envision the Na-Baron stalking through the main doors as you flit between sunlight and shadows, a rasp low in his chest as he parts his lips to taste the air, bloodlust and craving. A needy hunger. It makes your legs feel unstable as you blindly chase between archways, imagining the ghost of your prince behind you at your neck. Would he grab you, you wonder...? Would such hands that had slaughtered moments ago trap you now? The horror. The wonder. Your fingers grasp fistfuls of your gown, bare feet pressing against the cool of the marble under your padded steps.

You huddle swiftly behind a wall to catch your breath, angling your jaw to listen as you puff air in and out of your lungs.

"I know your here, princess."

You startle in silence, running cold - gosh - that voice. It was a weak point for you, Feyd had learned swiftly (as had you). A dangerous piece of knowledge, used more often than not as a way to keep you in your shared bed, wanton and delirious as he sought you out. You knew he carried a dare in his words now. Try to run, little rabbit. Try and see.

You want him to catch you, you think. Though perhaps not yet. Your mind fights for what to do - envisions him around you, and you battle the fog of your machinations in a fleeting moment - dashing towards a new hall at the opposite side of the room.

His laugh is low and drawn out as you fly from him, turning into a growl. You are nearly through a new door when he has you - twisting your fighting form and pulling you with him into the unfamiliar space, strong fingers gripping at your waist.

Then he is claiming your mouth with his, pulling you down with him and into his lap, arms trapping you like you were meant to be there - precisely so - all tongue and taste; the two of you stumbling against a wall. You moan - preen against him, fitting to his hold like a puzzle piece that was perfectly matched.

The slide of his tongue on yours is wet and heavy - and in the haze of kisses you see his eyes heavy lidded, watching, following a growl and the nip of his black teeth. It has you sighing again, mewling like some wanton thing, and the silk of your skirts are gripped in his hand at your hip, which cranes to push you against him. The other angles your neck, tipping your mouth deeper into his, and you think for a moment there is no where else you could go. No where quite like this where you belong so completely. His touch is so warm, and broad - iron too, you are aware that even if you attempted a form of escape, he would have you again in an instant.

"- My prince."

His eyes flash at your breathy words. You two had danced this game before - pretending it was your first meeting, feigning some kind of unaware strangers scenario, though you were both well aware of the visions that plagued each other's sleep for years.

He couldn't ignore the calling of your soul even if he tried.

"My lady." He sounds debauched as he cranes to attach a hot mouth to the spot below your ear, and you arch further into him, brows knitting together at the sensation; fighting for control. You make that sound again - the gentle whine that makes his eyes nearly roll back in his skull, and he chases it with another lathe of his tongue, and a warning rumble in his chest.

Don't tempt me - he taunts.

You have half a mind to mark him the same.

"You're not leaving this time, sweet one. I still haven't even gotten your name." His words proceed a suck at your bottom lip, and you angle to taste him in the fog that covers your mind. You almost don't understand the words in your haze; but the smile you taste in his kisses brings you back, and you pull away enough to face him, lips detaching from his own with a wet gleam.

"But my lord - you know I am engaged." the rumble he makes is another warning, hips against your own as his hands hold you there.

"Then I shall cut him down like all the rest." There is a pride and a jealousy that glimmers in the Na-Baron's eyes, even in this pretend world the two of you have crafted, and it takes you a moment to snap out of your heady admiration of him, chasing after his tongue with your own as you lean back in. Heads turn this way, and that, the heat of your breaths and the wetness of your kisses filling the silence of the space you've chosen.

Feyd groans - followed by a gentle tilt of your head, and his lips are by your ear, his hand in your hair, a commanding hold - though you know he'd never hurt you.

"I quite think you'd enjoy that, wouldn't you, little one?" You pant softly in response, only able to suffice a delicate nod in his embrace, overcome with your desire for him. And that's all he needs to hear, sliding his tongue against yours once more before he's hoisting you in his arms, the fabric of your dress bundling by his hold, baring the soft tenderness of your thighs. It has the muscles in his neck craning with a ragged groan, eyes trailing to meet yours with barely restrained tension. A man at his breaking point.

His swift strides have you clinging tightly to him, nose against his neck, pressed just under his ear. The wafting aroma of his cologne and the sweat and blood of the arena are filling your senses. You know he brings you to your chambers; the grip of his hands and the speed of his steps tell you as much; it makes you taste your lip between your teeth, pressing just so against him.

His prize.

#WE'RE BACK BABYYY #y'all know i couldnt stay away from another feyd fic #enjoy this delicious chapter #gosh i just wanna kiss a man #and feyd's got the most kissable mouth ever its so not fair #feyd x reader #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #x reader #fanfic #dune #dune part 2 #dune pt 2 #dune 2 fanfic #austin butler #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x you #feyd x you

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the-world-annealing · 1 year

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Witnessing Orcs: Diet

The main source of food that the carnivorous orcs consume is, of course, wild game. Rabbits and deer are common parts of the diet, but orcs have no qualms going after larger, more dangerous beasts also. Bison, aurochs and boars are all hunted when available, regardless of the threat they pose to individual hunters. Orcs have no qualms hunting predators, as some human cultures do, believing that such hunts are a proof of strength and will be rewarded with more game next season. Complementing the diet are various waterfowl and fish.

Children, though barred from wielding weapons, might set small snares, craft nets and fishing lines, and scour rocks for edible bugs, sharing the scraps they so obtain among their peers. They will also climb trees to search for birds' nests: something their older peers are typically too bulky to do. During my own childhood, I myself earned much of my favor with the other children in this manner.

After a successful hunt, the beast is butchered where it fell. No part of a kill goes to waste, except for the eyes, which are considered to contain the soul. Consuming eyes is considered a sign of madness and a risk of opening oneself up to possession, and so these organs are simply tossed away, free for either Gruumsh or Yurtrus to claim as they see fit.

All other parts are taken: fat, muscle, organ meat, skin, even the prey’s pre-digested stomach contents: if it can serve as food, it will. Killed game can be preserved by smoking and curing it, but this requires access to both salt and firewood, so more commonly it is simply cooked or dried before being taken back to the larger group. In cold climates, food may be buried in snow to preserve it.

On the rare occasion that the kill exceeds the hunting party’s carrying capacity, the excess is wrapped in skins, then submerged in water or buried underground, out of reach of scavengers and largely protected from rot. The partially fermented meat is then recovered later: still palatable and no less nourishing. Water is the preferred medium for such actions, but if none is available, a short ceremony to dedicate the skins to Gruumsh and Luthic is considered to protect the food from the worst of the rotting dirt’s taint.

Orcs are not quite true carnivores, and can digest several fruits and seeds without much struggle, but tend not to consume these plants even when they come by them. Retaining and transmitting knowledge of edible plants is hard, especially for those with the short lifespans of orcs, and only rarely is meat so scarce and fruit so plentiful that an expanded diet would be worth the risks. Generally, orcs consider plants and vegetable matter to be universally unreliable and poisonous things, ingrained in rot and dirt, whose deep-running roots suck up buried taint.

Orcs with access to human food quickly embrace the wide variety of preparation methods and flavorings found in their cuisine. They lack the human preference for sweet foods, preferring strong spicy, sour, or salty tastes. Most vegetable products they reject outright for reasons stated above. Of animal products, they cannot stomach milk and cheese, pay little mind to honey, and eagerly consume eggs, which adult orcs can otherwise only rarely obtain. The many strange beasts that are found in the sea they eat without pause, even when wholly unfamiliar with them: once during my travels I was served a strange, snake-like fish, utterly black in color, and found myself hesitating before it, but my orcish tablemate appeared wholly unbothered by its unwholesome appearance, and was in fact already halfway through her plate.

Last, I must discuss the more unsavoury sides of orcish food habits. I shall go right ahead and say this: yes, orcs eat those they slay in combat, and yes, they will even eat their own dead. It should be understood that orcs simply do not ascribe the same worth and dignity to a corpse that humans do, and are in fact very puzzled when humans exhibit concern over their practices: do they not both agree the soul has moved on? As they say, the dead cannot own what they cannot use: this applies to weapons and treasures, but corpses all the same. Conversely, the human tendency to take the dead and put them underground uniformly horrifies orcs, who interpret it as a calculated act meant to deny them food at best, and active sacrifice to Yurtrus at worst. When victorious in battle but unable to butcher the dead, some orcs make a point of removing and taking the eyes of the fallen, ensuring that those at least are not buried. Humans, for their part, can only interpret such acts as willful desecration of the dead.

(Next chapters will be about interaction with nonhuman and human people, perhaps with a little break in between to describe the orcish epic tradition)

#witnessing orcs #orcs #worldbuilding #cw cannibalism #cw food #we're back babyyy #d&d

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